


Nightmare

by jenna_thorn



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Florahart's Worst Nightmare challenge. <br/>Written around the time of OotP and therefore not canon compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare

The awards would come later, Molly knew. The owls and the quiet soothing words from friends, from strangers. She'd given them herself over the years, over fathers and husbands and children, quiet whispers of support. It seemed she could hear them now, already, too loud, like the rushing in her ears, drowning her in unshed tears.

The two forms, one walking, the other floating, came up the path, but she stayed, one hand resting against the stone wall of the Great Door. Even from here, she could see them too clearly through dry eyes, Dumbledore escorting yet another student home, yet another body here, to safety, too late. Yet another child, dead.

But this one was hers.

The breeze took away any heat the stone under her fingertips may have held. But she kept her hands still, pressed against magic encrusted rock. When she took them away, she could feel Ginny's hair sliding through her fingers, twisting into elf-locks, resisting being tugged into braids.

The cloak over Ginny trailed one edge dragging behind in the dust, too heavy to be dry. Dumbledore walked toward Hogwart's alone. The others still fought, the battle still raged. Molly's apron was spattered with blood, her hands aching from healing charms and carrying Severus's potions three, four, six at a time from his steaming lab to the infirmary, a constant flow of people and magic into the ward, and occasionally someone staggering out, limping to the guest rooms nearby, to clear a bed. She'd spent the day soothing, calming, mending bones and speeding scars and brushing away tears.

She had no tears of her own.

She watched Albus walk forward with her child's corpse and she hated him. Hated him as much as the enemy, for they had worked together, hadn't they? To take her daughter from her. He knew, as he always did, and he did not try to meet her eyes as he passed through the arch, the cloak edge leaving a smear along the steps.

She turned her face to the sun. Poppy would be needing her in the hours to come. Her sons, her husband, their friends, the Order, Albus would be needing her in the days to come.

She would care later, Molly knew.


End file.
